A Light in the Darkness
by nisakeehl
Summary: 9/11- one of the worst days in American history. Every year it's the same for Alfred- pain, suffering, screaming, crying. But on this bleak day, there is a glimmer of happiness. He's always there to help him, and Alfred hopes that never changes. -USUk-


A little one-shot for 9/11- I know today's the twelfth, (It wasn't done last night~) so here you all go! :) Pleas enjoy this, and remember to at least send a little thought/prayer for the 9/11 victims and their families.

I don't own Hetalia :)

- Nisa

* * *

If there was one thing England hated, it would be seeing Alfred hurt. So every year, on September 11, he made sure to see the young American. He already knew what Alfred went through. Most likely seizures, hallucinations, screaming, sobbing, and the like. Arthur would know- he went through it every year in July. It wasn't about him though. It was about Alfred, and how he was going to deal with it. So England stayed awake all night the day before the eleventh, waiting for the phone call. Every year was the same- Alfred would call, begging him to fly over to his place, and help him to '_please please please make the pain stop'_. Sometimes the Brit wondered why he just didn't fly over the week before, just to watch the American closely. Oh yes, there was a reason. A couple of years ago, Arthur had decided to stay a couple of days before the eleventh. When Alfred had found out though, he was furious, exclaiming forcefully that he could 'take care of himself' and 'didn't need him to stay'. After England had gone home, he received a call the next day from Alfred, begging the man to come back and help him.

The phone next to England rang.

The Brit dived for the phone, snatching it up and pressing the '_talk_' button forcefully. Before he could even say hello, a thick voice said quickly on the other end,

"Arthur, I need you to be here, _now_."

"I'll be at your place in a couple of hours love. Just hold tight until I get there, okay?" he said quickly, jumping up, grabbing his already packed suitcase, and made his way out of the house. Alfred hung up, leaving England to worry. It was no use calling him back, the poor man probably didn't have enough strength in him to answer, least talk. And if he was talking, it wasn't the good kind.

England made his way on to the plane, heart full with worry.

* * *

Back in New York, the air was filled with silence. Everyone was quiet, praying for the people of 9/11. In Alfred's flat, screaming could be heard.

_GET OUT!_

_ GET OUT OF THE BUILDING!_

Alfred's mind was filled with images; smoke, blood, fires _everywhere_. The people, _his_ people screaming, wailing for relief of cool air. It was so horrible, so _terrifying_, that the American couldn't help but retch up bile. A wave of anger surged over him, turning everything red. He threw the nearest thing next to him (a book) and clenched his fingers tightly. His heart, soul, and mind _begged_ for fighting, for killing, just _some sort of relief_.

What he _really_ wanted though, was someone to tell him _it was going to be okay_. Of course, he knew his stupid pride delayed that someone from getting here, but in the darkness of this day, there was a sliver of happiness. Actually, Alfred made a mental list-

* Not treated with hate, etc

* Not yelled at

* Not judged

* _Actually_ got to be called 'love'

* Was able to spend the next week with England

As you can probably tell, it was obvious Alfred had a crush on England. The only reason he liked this day just a _tiny bit_ was because for once, England came over to see how he was doing. There was no yelling (well, from Arthur anyway), no insults, and it actually even gave Alfred hope that _maybe_ Arthur didn't hate him.

Of course, all hope died eventually, right?

* * *

'_Could the plane be slower?!_ 'England thought to himself, glaring outside and into the sky. In all truth, it was obviously going at regular pace, if not faster. But was Arthur thinking clearly at this time? Of course not. All that surrounded his mind was Alfred, _Alfred_, and even more Alfred. "Was he okay? Has he hurt himself? Did other people call the hospital? Is he raging in New York right now?!" These thoughts flew through the Brit's mind, making him even more nervous. It was never a pretty sight to see a country in a horrid state, for they took it to the _extreme_. England remembered once that France had actually _murdered _a man while in one of his pains. It's not like they could help it though. The rages were impossible to calm until the day (or even the week) passed. Arthur remembered of how he used to tie himself to his bed so he couldn't hurt himself. It was _terrible_, and something one never forgot. So imagining Alfred, _his_ Alfred in so much pain absolutely _terrified_ him.

What England never wanted to say (and even felt bad thinking about it) was that he could see a glimmer of happiness in the darkness of the day. For _once_ he was finally able to worry about Alfred without being teased, reprimanded, or mocked. He could care for him all he wanted, even slipping in some things he would _never ever_ dare to say. To him, it was the day that he could believe that _maybe_ Alfred actually liked him. Yes, _yes_, he liked Alfred, but how was that any of _your_ business?

Finally the captain spoke up, signaling for landing. England's heart rate shot up, and he could swear that everyone could hear it beating frantically. He practically sprinted off the plane, snatched his bags, and dashed outside. He hailed a taxi, commanding in an urgent-like fashion that he needed to get to East-way New York flats _now_.

The car rounded a corner, and dropped off the Brit. The driver, being freaked out by Arthur, sped off, not even bothering for his pay. Meanwhile Arthur sprinted upstairs, grabbing Alfred's flat key from his pocket, and shoved the door open. Throwing his bags in some direction he sprinted to Alfred's room, but forced himself to pause. As he expected, moans and slight shrieks came from the inside. He screwed his eyes shut, and opened the door.

What he saw neither scared him, or surprised him. He just smiled sadly, and looked at the mess Alfred had made. The sheets were ripped, discarded on the floor, the lamp and books scattered and torn. But Alfred _himself_ was a different matter entirely. Sadly, it looked like he had gotten his hands on a pocket knife, which he had slashed random parts of his body with. On the bed was smeared in blood- '_God, save us all'_.

England approached the American carefully, making sure the man didn't have the knife on him still. A glimmer caught his eyes, and he noted gladly that it had been discarded on the floor. Picking the offensive thing up, he threw it into the next room, closing the door with a soft '_click'_.

"England?" a voice croaked from the bed. Arthur turned to face the bleeding man, taking in the image. Yes, it was a horrible sight indeed. Not one of the worst, but mildly bad. Instead of answering the Brit padded to Alfred's side, and started examining the cuts. Thankfully nothing was horrid, just a few cuts and bruises. Nothing bandages couldn't fix.

"You forgot about the knife, didn't you?" England asked gently, and started to wipe off the blood with a bed sheet. The blonde just nodded in response, looking a little sheepish. They both stayed silent until Arthur had completely wrapped all the main wounds with the bed sheets.

"When do you think you'll have your next attack?" he asked, running a hand through the American's hair.

"In about an hour." Alfred replied back gruffly. "Are you staying?" he asked, his tone embarrassed but hopeful. The Brit just smiled, patting America's sweat-damp head.

"Of course love."

Alfred started choking again, screwed his eyes shut, and whimpered.

"Starting sooner than later, huh?" Arthur murmured to himself, and '_tsked_.' With a sigh he sat next to Alfred, rubbing his hand on the man's back with smooth, circling motions. I didn't help much.

* * *

It was already 11:55, and the qualms started decreasing. Only five minutes until the day was over, and the horrors would disappear. Actually, they would stay for about a week, but at least he didn't have fits. Arthur being there was extremely helpful, and Alfred would probably have already slashed himself to death had the Brit not stopped him. America was slowly regaining his mind, and he found it easier to breathe.

"All right there, love? Only a couple more minutes." A voice reassured him gently.

_5_

_ 4_

_ 3_

_ 2_

_ 1_

_Finally_, finally it was September 12. Almost addmeadiatly the American could breathe, his head cleared, and he could finally open his eyes. What he saw first, was a smiling Englishman. Alfred stopped breathing. It just reminded him or _why_ he loved this man, why he even _cared_- and he knew Arthur would never love him back. It was heartbreaking. Before the young nation noticed, tears pooled the corners of his eyes, and he started crying bitterly, for loss, for love, for _everything_.

Arthur watched him sadly, and shook his head. He slapped himself mentally for wishing the day hadn't ended, that he could still hug the younger nation without making a fool out of himself. It was over though. Well, at least until next year. But next year also meant another July, and another heartbreak.

They fell asleep together, Arthur spooned around Alfred's body, who was still crying in his sleep, and Arthur, who was unconsciously pressing comforting kisses to the younger's head. It was a sad, loving sight- and one could only wish for both of their wishes to come true.

* * *

A week had passed till the eleventh, and everything became normal again. Well, except for Alfred. He could _not_ get the picture of the smiling Brit out of his head no matter how hard he tried- and the want to spill his confession to the man became very tempting.

So of course, a hero has to face his fears- so that's exactly what the young American did.

It was a stormy day, and the World Meeting was just about to start. Nations pooled inside, glancing up irately at the dark sky. Arthur Kirkland sat next to France as usual, bickering about the same things- as usual. The one who was hosting the meeting was Alfred, so he would speak first.

"Hey guys, let's start!" the American grinned, in a loud boisterous voice. Nations rolled their eyes, mentally preparing themselves for the speech on burgers. "All of you probably know 9/11 was last week-" Countries murmured mournfully to each other- it was not a surprise the young man would be talking about this "- and I have someone important to thank." The room went silent. "Every year I have these rages, they're really horrible and hurt a lot. Someone helps me through them though, and they probably don't know how much it means to me."

England stopped breathing.

"I mean, it's really _really_ important to me. Because I know that in this day of black, there is one good thing that comes from it."

At this point in time, thoughts flashed through Arthur's head. Was he seriously doing this? Did he mean it in the way _Arthur_ wanted it to mean? Or was Alfred just trying to tell him it was just a _friendly thing_?

"I get to spend it with the guy I love, Arthur Kirkland."

There could be an ending to this, but in the end, does it matter? This was just the beginning of their love- their little light in the darkness- so _we'll just leave it that way_.

* * *

I don't know, was the ending good enough? I couldn't figure out how Alfred should confess his love xD Reviews and favorites are 100% appreciated!

- Nisa


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